Being Sam
by WhisperedMemories
Summary: What is insanity? Is it as Einstein said, doing the same thing and expecting different results? Is it becoming a mass killer, talking to walls, or thinking the world is out to get you? Or is just...being yourself?
1. Welcome to the office of

_Appointment One_

Two little girls, on their way home from Sunday school, were solemnly discussing the lesson. "Do you believe there is a devil?" asked one. "No," said the other promptly. "It's like Santa Claus: it's your father." ~_Ladies' Home Journal_, quoted in _2,715 One-Line Quotations for Speakers, Writers & Raconteurs_ by Edward F. Murphy

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_Daddy._

"_Daddy! Help me!"_

_Sam shot up from where he had been laying in bed and scrambled down the hallway and slammed a door open. Inside was a little girl, with Jess's wide blue eyes and his curly brown hair. Tears were rolling down her cheeks from where she sat in her bed and she looked up at him with fear-filled eyes._

"_Daddy," she whimpered. Sam went forward and swept her up in his arms, holding her close under his chin._

"_Marie, it's okay," he crooned, rocking her tiny frame in his arms. The little girl could have been more than four. She clung to him, fingering the chain around his neck where a wedding band hung._

"_Mommy," she whispered. "It was mommy."_

_Jess had died just after Marie was born. The same way his mother had, in a fire. Sam didn't know how Marie could possibly remember, but she did._

"_I know sweetheart," he said, standing up with her blanket around her and rubbing her back soothingly as he paced back and forth. Marie wrapped her arms around his neck, snuffling into his shoulder._

"_Uncle Dean says I shouldn't cry, because Mommy's in heaven."_

_Sam had to smile at that. Dean wasn't that gentle with anyone but Marie. Not even his own son, Ben, who was just turning ten. That was a strange relationship anyway since Dean was no longer with the boy's mother Lisa._

"_Uncle Cass said that she's okay too. He's really nice. But Daddy…"_

_There was Dean's boyfriend, a strange man who seemed to know too much, but who was so gentle with both the children that his general weirdness was ignored._

"_Yeah?" said Sam, sitting down on his daughter's bed and leaning back so he could look down at her._

"_What if mommy's not in heaven?"_

_Sam sighed. _

'_Jess,' he thought. 'Why the hell did we have such a curious little girl?'_

"_Of course she's in heaven May," replied Sam, using her nickname that was only allowed 'at home and only when it's Daddy'. "Your mom was nice, smart and sweet, just like you!" he exclaimed, tickling her and kissing her cheek._

"_Daddy!" squealed Marie. "You so silly!"_

_Mission accomplished. His daughter was fully distracted for the moment, her mind all but forgetting the terrifying images that had caused her to wake in the first place._

"_Am I now?"_

"_Yesh!"_

"_Alright then, calm down now," he gently admonished, cradling her close again. Marie settled down against him, her eyelids fluttering tiredly. He didn't bother putting her back in her bed. He stood and went back to the master bedroom, which if you smelled real hard still had Jess' scent about it._

"_Why don't you lay down next to me, okay May?"_

"_Mkay…dy," she mumbled, snuggling up against him as he lay down, curling a protective arm around her._

_She was all he had…._

_No, she was what he could never have had._

Sam opened his eyes and wasn't surprised to feel tears sliding down his cheeks. This scene, this life, had tormented him constantly in Hell. He had a feeling deep in his heart that his dream daughter Marie could sincerely have existed if only the yellow-eyed demon hadn't killed Mary Winchester. He wondered if he was doomed to always loose Jess.

He then had the terrible thought that it was probably better that he never had a daughter. She probably would have ended up on a ceiling, screaming for him while she burned away into nothing.

A faint giggle made him turn, but it was just an old ghost taunting him. He realized that he had been asleep in the back of the Impala and the sun was shining brightly through the windows. He sat up and saw Dean coming back from a store with a plastic bag in his hands.

"Hey man, bout time you got up," his brother said, sliding into the driver's seat and turning to hand him the remaining contents of the bag. "It's veggie cream cheese, no onions."

"Thanks," said Sam, forcing a smile. Dean didn't buy it; he never did.

"What's up man?"

Sam looked away and saw a little girl walking hand in hand with her father, smiling up at him. She had wide blue eyes and softly curling brunette hair.

Sam wondered if her name was Marie.

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End Appointment One. Your next appointment is scheduled…you will be called when your time is made available.

Please leave us a Review concerning comments or questions.


	2. Doctor L Morningstar please refrain

_Appointment Two_

I suppose it is much more comfortable to be mad and know it, than to be sane and have one's doubts. ~G.B. Burgin

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_Pulsing, a sea of skin and bone._

_Racing, like a twisted game of tag._

_Forever, whispering maddened cries of ecstasy._

_These are the sounds of Sam's Hell. Always the distant sounds of a raging battle, always running and never being able to stay ahead of the pain._

_And the memories…_

_Memories of being tangled under the sheets with Jess, gasping and thrusting and never wanting to let go of her. The smell of her hair, the faint smell of her lilac shampoo and an overwhelming scent of their apartment, which smelled of pizza, cigarette smoke from the previous owners and the unidentified third scent which they always joked was a body in the walls. The smell of home._

_Memories of being small and Dean taking care of him. The sight of his older brother sitting him in the bath and gently washing his hair, a doting expression on his young face. How Sam used to feel bad when he whined for Lucky Charms and Dean would give into him. Later memories of Dean walking him to class in elementary school, ruffling his hair and hugging him like a parent would. More recent memories of Dean patiently sewing up his wounds, despite blood pouring out of his own, and countering his harsh words with comforting touches._

_Then his life barraged him and he was left falling, falling for what seemed like forever. Watching Adam's body drift away from him with Michael's eyes still aglow with righteous fury. He fell through fire, into water and then into the suffocating realm of the blood he had spilled during his life. Scents overwhelmed him, voices grew to a crescendo in his head and he sobbed._

_He sobbed until his heart broke and he stopped._

_He laid on the floor of the Cage for what seemed like centuries. And then…_

_And then…_

"Sam?"

"Bobby?"

"No, it's Cher, of course it's me, ya idgit!"

Sam sighs and rubs his eyes, only to realize that he's not in the back of the Impala anymore. He's in Bobby's house, it's still dark and Dean is quietly sleeping on the floor next to him.

"What time is it?"

"Too friggin' early. You alright?"

"Yeah…I will be."

Bobby pats his shoulder, and waits until Sam lays back down before carefully clambering over Dean and back upstairs. Sam gives one last look around the room and then closes his eyes despite knowing what will happen.

…_and then He appears._

_Not his own face, not the melted, burned remains of Nick. This is Lucifer. The Devil. The Star of Dawn and Son of the Morning. He's so pretty Dean probably would have hit on him. Considering how attached he was to Castiel, it wasn't a far-fetched possibility._

"_Hello, Samuel."_

_Sam tries to sit up, but he's trapped. Exposed. Lucifer walks over, slowly and with a slight dance in his step. With a start, Sam realizes that he appears man from the waist up, but his legs are too long, too graceful and shaded a curious hue of black. Six enormous argent wings glimmer upon his back, he wears no garments but nothing is exposed. Sam doesn't wonder if angels are actually junkless or if it's invisible. He's just glad the Devil can't flash him. His relief is short-lived._

"_So…"_

_That one soft word is more frightening than anything this angel of hell has ever said to him. He kneels and Sam tries to move away from what he thought was a rippling shock of black hair. They're black flames, writhing like tangled snakes upon Lucifer's inhumanly alabaster skin. The eyes that are lidded with long lashes are black where they should be white, white where they should be black, and where there should be a human color, there is a deep violet-red, the color of blood still in the veins._

_A hand, long fingered and more graceful than a swan, reaches out and pushes back a lock of Sam's hair. His touch is freezing, burning Sam's skin with frostbite and then a searing heat._

"_Lucifer, you should know better" interrupts a deep voice. They both turn and Sam is surprised to see Adam. But then he realizes that the voice came from the being behind him._

"_Michael," hisses Lucifer._

_The angel is tall, taller than Lucifer, but that is where the similarities in looks end. Michael has four faces, but the three animals are only visible if viewed at an angle Sam finds. His skin is dark olive in complexion giving him a very Mediterranean look with his dark brown hair. But his eyes are a piercing blue that are startling bright next to his dark skin, and for a moment Sam is reminded of Castiel. Michael only has two wings, and they are inky black, but their wingspan is easily twice that of Lucifer's largest pair. A frightening sword is belted at his waist, and Sam is horrified to see that Michael is dressed as an old Vietnam War veteran would be. Dean would be furious._

_The two angels draw closer to each other and Sam turns to Adam._

"_Run," he hoarsely, but firmly, orders. His younger brother, how strange it sounded to Sam, gave him a poison tipped glare._

"_Fuck. You."_

_And Adam is upon him, beating him with angry fists. Almost simultaneously, Michael is upon Lucifer and they clash with the sound of a thousand swords beating upon shields._

_Blood._

_Dean's smartass grin flashes before his face._

_Bones snapping._

_Jess, whispering in his ear after sex, her voice full of love._

_Skin flayed apart._

_A faint memory of his father rocking him to sleep, failing, and handing him to Dean._

_Organs rupturing._

_Dean, who is softly singing Hey Jude just like their mother used to._

Sam sleeps.

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Appointment two is concluded. Slight improvement, but further treatment recommended.

Please return for your scheduled session.

Reviews may be utilized to express comments and/or concerns.


	3. from all rowdy behavior

_Appointment Three_

For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst and to provide for it

~ Patrick Henry

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"_Wakey, wakey Sam," croons Lucifer. "Tim for some fond, family memories."_

_Sam opens his eyes and sees a dragonfly. It's perched on his nose, iridescent green with great big eyes that reflect back the tattered remains of Sam's soul. Hundreds of broken Sams, all with different faces._

"_Beelzebub," whispers the Devil. "Shame on you, landing on a guest without an introduction."_

_The dragonfly flits away and lands on Lucifer's finger and Sam sits up, staring after it with rapt fascination that he doesn't want to have. The dragonfly shakes its wings._

"_Like him? I helped Father make him long ago…now he's mine. Gluttony, all wrapped up in a little insect. How he ever managed to fit all that corruption and flaw into just one will always escape me."_

_Sam hears his words, feels his chest growl with half-hearted irritation. His body won't move, he's too fascinated by Beelzebub. The dragonfly seems to wink in and out of existence._

_The ground shakes and a river of fluorescent neon flows under him, burning his skin. Lucifer remains still, watching him, but now he's upside down, an umbrella over his head._

"_Looks like rain," he whispers._

_It's a cold rain, almost snow. It hits Sam's face and he's brought out of his daze, only to realize that he's on fire._

_He screams._

"_Oops," says Lucifer, holding a hand to his mouth in mock horror. "My bad. I left the stove on."_

_Sam saw his skin bubbling off, heard his bones snap from the heat. He turned to ash and blew across the ground. Ashes to ashes…_

_He settled on the ground and knew what it was like to be a worn path. To have thousands of feet pass over you each day, each of their lives travelling through the way they walked, the songs they hummed, the expression on their face._

_He was not a worn path. Not one set of feet passed over him. He lay there, scattered about and half conscious, dreaming of wings made of chains and prisons of air. Dust to dust…_

_He struggled to pull his ashes together, waiting for a breeze to pass to collect iotas of his former body. He struggled finding every cell, every essence of what made him Sam. His shaggy brown hair, so like Dad's that Dean teased him incessantly about it. His green eyes that marked him as a Winchester and his long limbs that made him the big brother._

_And then suddenly, he was whole again._

_Only to be grasped by Lucifer and thrown across the space into a spiked wall. He hears the spikes pierce his body, he feels nothing._

"_You're a determined one Sam, just like your brother. You've given up hope of being rescued, which is wise. I don't to think that you've grown complacent however. Would you like to know the truth of why you're down here?"_

'_No,' thought Sam to himself._

"_I'll take that as a yes. You're here because you're just like me. A monster, a freak, outside the fringe of normalcy trying to look in."_

_Sam's vision blurred until Lucifer looked like Dean just before Sam left for Stanford. He's young and looks so different from the Dean Sam knows that he wonders when he started looking so old. This Dean doesn't have circles under his eyes, or the doubt that lurks just beneath the surface. But he has the same look in his eyes as Dean always had when they were younger. Worry. Worry for Sam._

"_Sammy? Where are you going, huh?"_

_Sam doesn't remember what he said back, but Dean had quietly accepted it. He could bitch, moan and yell all day that Sam ran away all on his own, but the truth was, Dean let him leave. He could have tried harder to make him stay and he could have looked harder to find him. But no, he let him leave._

"_I didn't want you," whispered younger Dean. "No one did. Not mom, not dad, not Jess. You're weird. A screw-up and too different. You're not human."_

_Dean had never said that. Sam had felt it though. He loved his brother and knew his brother loved him, but Dean had always been cautious with him. Especially after the incident with the succubus when they were small. Dean had never left his side._

"_I never trusted you. Never."_

"_NEVER!"_

It was sunny outside. All that effort, all that pain, and the sky had the audacity to be clear. Sam picked his head up from where it had been buried into the pillow in Bobby's spare room and looked around. It was late afternoon and the house was quiet. He got up and padded quietly over to the door and opened it. Creeping downstairs in his rumpled clothes and messy bedhead, Sam turned the corner and found Dean asleep with his head in Castiel's lap. The angel was dozing as well and Sam didn't think too hard about them all being passed out or why his brother was curled up in another man's lap. They were tired.

They were all tired.

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Patient's physical health had deteriorated. Risk level: intermediate. Further treatment recommended.

Any concerns may be expressed through reviews.


	4. Resistance is futile you will not

_Appointment Four_

"Language…has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone." ~ Paul Tillich

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_To be free._

_That's all he's ever wanted. To be free of the life his father has raised him in. To be free of the strangers' stares. To be free of his brother's smothering protection._

_Stanford._

_He remembers walking onto the campus and ogling at all the nationalities mingling, sharing hugs and words of hate and dozens of accents making themselves known. So many new sounds! So many new ways of thinking and ideas and __**knowledge.**__ He breathed in, sighing._

_Jess._

_She was so beautiful. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled because she meant it. He remembered the first time he kissed her, in the middle of a trip to the Golden Gate Bridge. He remembers how she would curl up next to him in bed and he would wrap his arms around her and she would wrap hers around him; and somehow, he always felt as if she was protecting him._

_And then…and then._

_He was lonely. So lonely growing up. He had Dean, and he loved Dean, but Dean was older and didn't like the things Sam liked. He just wanted a friend. One friend, was that too much to ask? Now…now this Ruby wanted the same thing he did. Would she be his friend?_

_Of course not._

_He was such a fuck up. He ruined everything. But Dean stayed with him. Granted, he had a hard time, but he never once really gave up on Sam. He never gave up trying to protect him. Mom died. Dad died. Jess died. Everyone left, but Dean was constant. He was always there with a sarcastic comment to make him smile. He was there to sing softly to soothe his nightmares. He was there._

_Except…_

_Dean in Hell. He could hear his cries when he slept. It was awful. Sam. Sam! SAMMY!_

_Dean! I'm here! Dean!_

_But Dean stayed in Hell, suffering, hurting…torturing. He wasn't Dean anymore and Sam wept. He was alone._

_Alone!_

_Always alone!_

_But never in solitude._

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Condition shows no signs of improvement or deterioration. Patient is losing touch with reality.

Please express all concerns in reviews.


	5. be allowed to leave unless certain

_Appointment Five_

"Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn."

~C.S. Lewis

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_Never trust a demon._

_Why did he trust the words coming out of Lucifer's mouth?_

"_I'm an angel Sammy-boy. Everything that I say is true."_

_He didn't want to believe him. Why would he say these things? How could he possibly know?_

"_What, that your mother didn't want to have you? That she and your father were fighting when she was pregnant with you?"_

_Don't tell me. Don't tell me these things._

"_You were never supposed to be born, Sam. But we couldn't let that happen, could we?"_

_Please, God, please._

"_God? God is love. I don't love you Sam."_

"_**I do."**_

_Dean?_

"_**I love you Sammy. You're my brother."**_

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_He was small. Only six or seven and their father hadn't been home in six days. He had cried and cried, sobbing that their Dad didn't love them anymore. Dean was ten and had endured their father's absence with incredible stoicism. He had dutifully made their food every day; he had made sure Sam had bathed. Hell, he had even managed to extend their stay at the hotel for another two days._

_But the day came when their food ran out. They were forced to go to the store._

"_Alright Sammy, stay close okay?"_

"_Kay Dean."_

_He had grasped his brother's hand in a death grip before they entered the supermarket. He gripped it even tighter when the atmosphere hit him. The smell of produce and floor cleaner mixed with the noise of squeaky carts and wailing children. There was a sense of hurriedness about them and a sense of the rules being different from the rest of the world._

"_It's okay Sammy. I'm here."_

_And Dean picked up a basket, towing Sam behind him as they perused the isles. So much food! Sam had never been in a supermarket without Dad. He usually waited in the car with Dean. _

"_Wow! Look, a whole shelf of Lucky Charms!" he squealed excitedly, pointing up at the cereal. Dean grinned at him._

"_Only one box though. We don't got a lot of money."_

"_Aw!"_

_Dean sighed and dragged him along, moving towards the canned foods and dairy. Ten cans of Spaghetti-O's, two boxes of instant rice and a gallon of milk. Dean was handing his brother the lighter basket when a woman stopped them._

"_Oh my! Such responsible boys. Are you alone?"_

"_Yep. We live right down the street!" said Dean, plastering a bright smile on his face. "Just doin' this for our Dad!"_

"_Oh, how good of you!" said the woman, but her gaze said that she didn't really believe them. "How about you come with me and see if we can't call your parents?"_

"_No thank you," said Dean, pulling Sam to his side. "We're fine."_

_Then he turned smartly around and pulled Sam with him._

"_Little boy! Don't go! You've got your little brother-!"_

"_Yeah? And I can take care of him just fine thank you! Now leave us alone lady!" retorted Dean, his eyebrows sharp with irritation. The woman recoiled from them and they continued on their way to the register._

"_Dean?"_

"_Yeah Sammy?"_

"_Why did that lady want to take us?"_

"'_Because adults are stupid," said Dean, scowling._

"_That'll be twenty seventy-five," said the teenage girl behind the register. She took no notice of their apparent age and handed Dean back his change of ten dollars and fifteen cents. He shouldered both bags and grabbed Sam's hand again as they headed back towards the motel._

"_Why?"_

"_Because they lie."_

"_Does Dad lie?"_

"_No. Dad never lies."_

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_You lied Dean._

_Dad lied about everything. He didn't love us! He thought we were dangerous, especially me. He only stayed to keep an eye on us, make sure we didn't kill anyone._

_Kill._

_Kill!_

_KILL!_

"Sam! Stop!"

His eyes shot open to see his fist inches away from Castiel's face, Dean's restraining hand on his arm. Sam stumbled back, eyes wide in horror.

"I-I-Sorry!"

"It's alright Sam," said Castiel patiently. "I was not harmed."

"Sammy, you okay?" asked Dean, raising an eyebrow at him. Sam looked at him curiously, almost as if he didn't recognize him.

"Dean?"

"…Yeah?"

"Did dad love us?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

Sam stayed silent for a moment, and then replied. "You said that Dad never lied. But he did Dean. So many times."

"Sam, that was years ago. Like, twenty years ago. What's up with you man?"

But Sam didn't respond. He had been right.

They always lie.

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Patient's condition deteriorating again. More frequent sessions requested.

Concerns may be expressed in reviews.


	6. qualifications are met If these do not

_Appointment Six_

"A lot of life is dealing with your curse, dealing with the cards that aren't so nice. Does it make you into a monster, or can you temper it in some way, or accept it and go in another direction?"

~Wes Craven

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_This wasn't his memory. It was Dean's. He didn't know why Michael wished for him to see this._

_He watched._

"_Mommy?"_

"_Yes sweetheart?"_

"_When can I see my baby bwuder?"_

_Mary Winchester was sitting in a rocking chair, only five or six months pregnant, with a toddler Dean in her arms. He was in a deep blue pair of pajamas, and his eyes were fluttering tiredly as his mother rocked him._

"_Soon angel. You've gotta be patient."_

"_Kay. Can I feel?"_

"_You sure can sweetie."_

_And he watched as Dean set his tiny hand upon his mother's swollen belly. A moment later, he smiled broadly._

"_He kicked! He kicked!"_

_Mary laughed and swept her oldest son back up in her arms and kissed his cheek. Dean giggled and put his arms around her neck, nuzzling her._

"_Love you Mama."_

"_Love you too baby."_

_The image faded and was replaced by one six months later. Sam was three months old, but he already had a mop of wispy curls. Dean was staring down at him curiously._

"_Y'know, you're a lot smaller than other babies."_

_Sam had smiled at that. The first time he's smiled in Hell._

"_So that means I've gotta protect you from the bad kids. That's okay, that's mah job!"_

_And Dean had been such a happy child, and a mama's boy. While Mary cooked, he would diligently follow her around, holding stuff for her and picking things up off the floor. Sam didn't see John very often. He hadn't realized how much Dad had been gone when Dean was small._

"_Mama, Sammy stinks!"_

"_Does he now? Are you gonna change his diaper?"_

"_No way!"_

_Mary laughed at her oldest son and handed him a bowl of fruit. "Alright then. Go watch T.V. while I change your brother."_

_And Mary had scooped up a happily burbling Sam and brought him upstairs. She set him down gently on the table and cooed at him while she changed him. That was when John appeared in the doorway, smiling at them._

"_Oh, you scared me!" said Mary, jerking back when she saw him. She smiled warmly though and he came over to kiss her. She bent down to pick up Sam but John stopped her._

"_I've got him."_

_Mary kissed her husband's cheek and John was left alone with the infant Sam. He leaned down and kissed his youngest son's forehead._

"_Hi Sammy."_

_And there was love in his eyes._

_Skip ahead three months, three months where Mary is burning alive on the ceiling of Sam's room._

_The days after are dark days indeed. They were often at Missouri's and their father was gone for weeks at a time, and usually came back drunk. Dean was quiet, so quiet. But he occupied himself by helping Missouri with Sam and singing songs to his brother. And Sam was a blissfully happy baby, laughing loudly and clapping his hands when Dean would play with him._

_John treated him like he was made of glass. True, there was still love in his eyes when he looked at his children, but now there was caution, fear. Sam would never know what it truly stemmed from, but he was sure it wasn't because Dean had an addiction to pie. They grew older and John became more distant and Dean stepped in as his parental figure._

_What a crushing weight to bestow upon a child. Memories flashed through his brain, memories that went back further than they should have._

_Dean, only five, holding his hands as he learned to walk._

_Dean teaching him how to ride a bike._

_Dean, climbing into the tub with him and carefully washing his hair, even getting behind his ears._

_Dean._

_The motel room was dark, Sam was sixteen, nearly seventeen, and was sleeping fitfully in the bed next to Dean's. Dean, who could have been out drinking, still dutifully watching over him. Sam didn't remember this, but when his younger self cried out in terror, Dean patiently got up from his perch and stroked his forehead, singing Hey Jude._

_He couldn't remember Dean singing after Elementary school._

_In fact, he couldn't remember Dean doing a lot of these things. Was it supposed to be this way? These small, ordinary things that Dean did went unnoticed by everyone, including Sam. Did it have to be this way?_

_Hell, would Sam have lived this long if Dean hadn't been that way?_

_Doubtful. He was a curse upon his family, a burden. His birth, his existence was the reason for everything fucked up that had ever happened to them._

_Everything._

He opened his eyes to soft morning sunshine, and to the warm smell of roasted coffee. He turned and saw a cup and a couple of granola bars laid out on the table beside his bed. Beside it was a note from Dean.

_Went out to fill up tires. Be back eventually. Eat and drink or I'll kick your ass._

_~Dean_

Sam smiled softly and reached over to take a sip of the coffee. That was when he noticed three bandaids on his arm, where he must have scratched himself in his sleep.

"Thanks Dean."

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Patient's decline slowing, possibility of stabilization. Further observation required.

Please express concerns through reviews.


	7. agree with your belief, that is not a

_Appointment Seven_

"I envy because of the heart  
>I glutton because of the heart<br>I covet because of the heart  
>I am prideful because of the heart<br>I sloth because of the heart  
>I rage because of the heart<br>Because of the heart  
>I lust for everything about you"<p>

~Tite Kubo

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He couldn't stand fire. Not the sight of it, the smell of it or its heat. What so many considered a symbol of home, he saw as a dreaded memory of Hell.

Fire, with its cruel hands, always tearing, burning and peeling his skin. Its terrible heat, building up inside of him until it poured out of his mouth and eyes, his internal organs roasting inside his own skin.

"Sam."

He looked up to see Castiel with a concerned look in his blue eyes. His head was tilted to the side, like a child.

"Hmm?"

"You are alright? You didn't blink for an extraordinarily long time."

"Oh, um, yeah. I'm fine Cass, thanks."

"Okay. Have you seen Dean? I wish to speak with him."

Sam raised an eyebrow but didn't ask any questions. The angel was now closer to Dean than Sam had seen previously. If it made Dean happy, however idiotic their relationship might be, Sam didn't really care, so he pointed out to the garage.

"He's with his mistress, tuning her engine."

"Ah, thank you Sam."

"No prob."

The angel was gone in a flash and Sam was left alone with his thoughts. A dangerous situation for him these days.

Immediately he thought of Jess.

He surprised himself. She was always lurking in the back of his mind, a smile cropping up here, a brief burst of gentle laughter there. Sam felt guilty, he hadn't consciously thought of her in months.

_She was sitting on their bed, in a pair of loose pajama pants and one of his shirts, studying a stack of photos._

"_Sam, you were such a cute baby!" _

_He had scoffed at her as he dried his hair from being in the shower._

"_Oh, and this must be your mom."_

_He turned and Jess held up a picture of his whole family, and there was Mary Winchester cradling a tiny Sam to her chest and smiling at the camera._

"_Yeah," he whispered softly. He came over, only in his shorts, and sat down beside her. "Dean says she was really nice."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I told you she died in a fire right?"_

"_Yeah, when you were little right?"_

"_When I was six months old."_

_Jess gave a soft gasp. "Sam! You never said that."_

"_We don't talk about her much," said Sam, gazing down softly at his family. Dean with his usual smirk was curled against their father, who had his other arm around Mary and Sam. Jess put two hands on his shoulders and rubbed them gently._

"_Do you want to?"_

_He was quiet for a moment, thoughts running wildly through his head. This was a new idea, a new concept to him. Dean refused to talk about their mother, partly because he had been inseparable from her while she was alive and partly because of their father. John, who forbid the topic of Mary._

"_I don't remember her. I'm not like Dean and my Dad, who have to deal with it everyday. I don't remember her singing lullabies, or tucking me in or having the crust cut off my sandwiches. I don't remember…"_

"_That's okay Sam," said Jess. "You were so little, no one could have remembered."_

"_But the fire was in __**my**__ nursery. She died protecting me. I fell that I should remember that. Dean does and he was only four."_

"_What?" asked Jess, startled._

"_Dean only talked about it once. He remembers the heat of the fire, running outside. Dear God, Jess, he remembers her screams."_

"_You love your brother a lot don't you?"_

"_He raised me."_

"_I know, love," said Jess, kissing his cheek softly. "And he did a very good job."_

He was jolted from the memory by loud voices and then a door slamming shut. Moments later Dean stormed by, his face thunderously angry.

"Dean?"

"Not now Sam," he snarled, stomping up the stairs and a few seconds later a second door could be heard slamming shut. Sam sat back, waited a few minutes and then heard the door to the garage open again and Castiel came inside, much more quietly than his brother had. Sam didn't mean to, but he stared when the angel came into the study.

"Cass, you alright?"

The angel turned and looked at him with an expression that made his chest hurt. Castiel was heartbroken.

"I do not believe so. I upset him very much."

And with a fluttering of wings, he was gone. Sam sighed and stood up, walking up the stairs after Dean. It was quiet save for the sound of a gun being disassembled, put together and cocked time after time. It was a habit instilled in them by John, whose mentality never allowed for idle hands. If you were going to brood, do something useful while you did it.

"Sam, go away."

Sam ignored him and went into the room that Dean had converted after Bobby had died. He sat down on the bed and returned the irritated glare his brother gave him with concerned indifference. Soon though, Dean sighed and gave up.

"I'm stupid."

"Tell me something I don't know," teased Sam softly. Dean glared at him, but cracked a wry grin. He got up and came to sit by Sam, ruffling his hair as he sat down.

"You need a haircut. You're starting to put Lennon to shame."

"Uh-huh."

And Dean leaned against him, slinging his arm across his shoulders. "Don't worry 'bout me Sammy. Me and Cass are fine."

"Fine," said Sam, anger growing inside him. He hated that word. "Everything is always fine with you. No it's not Dean."

"Sam-"

"Don't Sam me. I'm tired of lies Dean. Dad lied our whole lives. Lucifer's been lying to me for years now. I just want to hear the truth."

"_Okay," said Dean, standing up. "You want the truth? I hate you!"_

_Sam recoiled from the words, but Dean didn't stop. "You're a freak! A monster! I've been taking care of your ass since I was four! Who the hell wants that? I just wanted a normal life!"_

_No, no, no, NO!_

_It's not true, that's not true! This isn't real! Dean loves me._

_**Oh, but Sam, what greater love is there than unrequited hate?**_

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Stress upon the patient is increasing. Medication may be required. Further observation required.

Please express concerns freely through reviews.


	8. concern of this office If you would

_Appointment Eight_

"A true friend is someone who thinks you're a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked." ~ Bernard Meltzer

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"_Cass?"_

"_Yes Sam?"_

"_Promise me something?"_

_The angel tilted his head, confused, but nodded despite his doubt._

"_I'm going to say yes. You have to watch out for Dean."_

"_You know I will do my best."_

"_No, I don't."_

"_You can't let him be Dean. He'll feel guilt; let it eat at him until there's nothing left. I'm going to give him a chance, Cass, please…don't let him get lost."_

_Castiel was silent and Sam knew he was thinking hard from the expression on his face. Then it was lit with a gentle smile, one usually reserved for Dean._

"_You are a good brother Sam. I wish my siblings were as kind as you."_

"_Then we have a deal?"_

"_We have a promise."_

_But Castiel had broken that promise, Sam would soon learn. Lucifer knew that Dean was his weakness. He used Dean to break him._

"_Look Sammy, look. Do you think he'll kill himself? I do."_

_Sam didn't cry as he watched Dean play with the trigger of his gun. He couldn't cry anymore. But inside, in the small corner of his heart where hope for Dean and Castiel lived on, the light went out._

"_Don't do it," he whispered, his lips cracking and bleeding as he spoke. If Dean died, Sam's soul died with him._

"_Do it," murmured Lucifer. "I bet he'll do it. He'll blow his brains out, blood splattering on the walls-!"_

"_Stop it!"_

"_Ooh, feisty today!"_

_A gunshot ripped through Sam's mind._

"_NO!"_

"Sammy!"

He bolted upright to see Dean leaning over him, panic on his face.

"Dean?"

"Holy shit. Don't you ever do that to me again!"

"Do what? I was sleeping."

"You were out for three days!"

Three days? But-

"Where's Cass?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"But, you guys had a fight and-"

"Sammy," whispered Dean, his eyebrows sloped upward in confusion. Sam clutched at his head.

"I saw it I-I'm sorry Dean."

He had just wanted his brother to be happy. Was that too much to ask? Was his psyche so tired of watching Dean suffer that it had created a life in which he was the Dean Sam knew from childhood?

"About what? Giving me a damn heart attack?"

"About Cass."

And Dean is quiet and Sam understands just how much pain his older brother is in. He has the same look in his eyes as Sam had when Jess died. Circles under his eyes spoke of night after night of terrifying nightmares and guilt haunting him.

"So Sorry."

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Patient's condition has stabilized. Continuation of therapy agreed upon. Regular counseling suggested.

Please express concerns through reviews.


	9. rather have freedom this isn't the place

_Appointment Nine_

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer." ~Albert Camus

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"Do you remember when we were little and Bobby took us to that lake?"

"Oh yeah... that's right. I hate that place."

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother. "Why?"

"You almost drowned, remember?"

"Dean, I fell over in two feet of water, I was fine."

"You were three! You could've drowned!"

"Besides that, we went back almost once a summer and you never had a problem with it."

Dean grumbled to himself and sipped his coffee. "Why're you bringing it up anyway?"

"It's cold out. I miss the nice weather."

"New flash, we're in South Dakota in January."

"Captain Obvious strikes again I see."

They both laughed and Sam got up to peek out the window into the weak evening sun. "Snow clouds again."

"Sam, you okay? You're like, seriously obsessed with the weather lately. You're not Al Roker."

"It calms me down."

"Then by all means, be the fuckin' weather lady."

The house, another of Bobby's, creaked in the wind as the sky grew darker. Sam could smell the snow in the air, ozone and the odd scent of hose water. It was cool, soft and the opposite of the searing heat of summer. Sam loved the other seasons, but summer; summer had become his least favorite.

Summer was nature's hell.

"Dean, tomorrow's your birthday."

"Yeah, so?"

"You're going to be thirty-four."

"And-?"

"You've been looking after me for thirty years."

Dean was quiet for a moment and Sam could see him processing that thought.

"That means mom's been dead for thirty years," replied Dean, his green eyes sad. Sam blinked.

He was going to be thirty in May. Only thirty? He had lived through all of this, and he was only going to turn thirty?

That was horribly depressing, but Sam accepted it. How could he not? He wasn't like Dean, who remembered, however faintly, having the crusts cut off his bread and Mom and Dad hugging and kissing him goodnight. Life for Sam had always been, move, do the job, leave, repeat. Emotions? Control them. Attachment? Practically leads to the dark side for a hunter. Dreams? They're always nightmares.

"Dean, you've been my brother for thirty years."

Dean smiled. "I suppose I have. You should buy me new rims for baby. You owe me."

"Yeah, let me just pull those hundreds of dollars out of my ass."

"Hey, now that the stick is gone, there's room."

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"_De! De!"_

_Sam stumbled over his own feet as he and his brother ran around on the sandy shore of the lake, Bobby keeping careful watch from his chair, beer in hand._

"_Brush it off!" hollered the old hunter, giving Sam a smile. Sam giggled and got back up, ignoring the older man to chase after Dean._

"_Dean!"_

_His brother stopped and turned, waiting for him._

"_De, go in water!"_

"_Okay Sammy."_

_His brother sat down in the sand, near the water line and nodded for him to wade into the shallows. He shrieked with excitement and ran in, splashing in the ankle-deep water._

"_Fish! Fish!"_

_Dean laughed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah Sam, fish, big freakin' deal."_

_Then Sam saw a bigger fish, a little further out and his eyes locked onto it. He turned and took a step forward._

_And sank._

_It was dark and suffocating. Water flooded in his eyes, his ears, filling up his throat and rushing up his nose. Fear flooded him. Where was his brother? What was happening? Dean!_

_And then, two hands plunged into the murky water and hauled him to the surface._

"_SAMMY!"_

_Dean's voice was reedy from panic and Bobby had rushed into the water, his jeans soaked. Sam looked around dazedly for a moment, still reeling from the lack of air._

"_De-" he was cut off as he began to choke up water, coughing violent to rid his lungs of the liquid._

"_Sammy," said Dean, holding him close in his skinny first-grader arms. Bobby scooped them both up and went back up where towels were waiting for them._

"_Alright that's enough for today. Let's get you two idjits dried off and fed, then we'll go home."_

_But the memory had already begun to fade, only to be replaced with a nightmare._

_He was drowning again. Only this time, it was in ashes. His own ashes. Fire licked at him, burning away his soul. Hands gripped him, pulling him down, further and further into the depths of Lucifer's cage, further into himself. _

_NO!_

_Dust filled his mouth, blocking his throat. He inhaled, only to have the scent of burning flesh and ashes rush up his nose. He reached up, grasping for those hands, calling out. He gripped empty air, a seething mass of sin dragging his arm back down._

_Suddenly, another hand, a human one, shot through the darkness and gripped his wrist. Light flooded through the darkness and suddenly he could breathe._

"_Dean?"_

"_No, Sam, I'm sorry."_

_The voice was male, but soft, and another hand reached down and helped pull him up. A young man, perhaps a little younger than him, was there to meet him with a concerned face._

_This was new. Sam had never remembered this._

"_Who are you?"_

_The young man flipped back his curly black hair to reveal a white, jagged scar at his temple. Fierce blue eyes, like those of John Winchester, snapped with secrecy._

"_So it is in Heaven, so it shall be on Earth. I am the second born of Adam."_

"_Abel?"_

"_Yes."_

_Sam's eyebrows shot up and he winced with pain when his burned skin stretched and crackled. _

"_But, why are you-"_

"_Sam, you and Dean are my descendants. Through your father you are of my blood. When Lucifer fell from heaven, it was my body he used as a vessel. I died with him."_

"_You said yes?"_

"_I had children, Sam. A wife. I did it to protect them, just as you did it to protect your brother."_

"_How long have you been down here?"_

"_In Earthen years? Thousands. In the time of Hell? I don't know. I've lost count I've been suffering for so long. If you would like to hear the story, I would be glad to tell you. It helps pass the time. I haven't had anyone to talk to."_

_It was then Sam realized that they were in a cozy little room, or what had once been a cozy room. Now the chairs were ripped and broken and a cold dust blew across the floor._

"_Sorry, I haven't had time to clean. You know how it is."_

_Sam smiled. For the first time in a hundred years, he smiled. "You remind me of my Dad. And Dean."_

_Abel smiled back. "You remind me of my son, Dan."_

"_Dan?"_

"_Yes, it's a very old name. As is Samuel. You should know."_

_He really was like Dean. Sam settled down in one of the chairs, and though it creaked precariously, it held._

"_What about Lucifer?"_

"_He won't come around for a while. He and Michael are fighting again. I tried to find Adam, your brother, but he's disappeared as of late. I only hope he isn't trapped somewhere."_

_Sam felt the slightest bit of guilt. He hadn't thought about Adam in many, many years._

"_You said you had a story to tell me?"_

"_Yes, I do. It's a story I'm sure your brother would appreciate, so remember to tell him when you leave."_

"_What?"_

"_I have no doubt that someone will come for you. You only need wait a little longer."_

"_What about you?"_

_Abel's eyes were sad with old regret. "It is alright Sam, I have accepted my fate. No one will come for me, I have been forgotten for many millennia now."_

_This made Sam sad. "What happened?"_

"_The same thing that happened to you. I was born for a purpose, and that purpose was to die. I loved my wife and she died because of that. My mother, driven insane by what had happened to Cain and I, turned herself into a monster with blood magic. My little brother Seth, born just after I died, was the first Werewolf. My children were hunted by my siblings. My father died protecting them."_

_Sam was quiet. It was so eerie, how familiar Abel's story was. Being chased as children, their mother gone, and their father dying. He was drawn out of his thoughts by the room shuddering. Thunderous roars echoed across the plain outside. Abel looked to Sam with wide eyes._

"_Don't let them catch you," he whispered, before opening a door and shoving Sam through it. He caught a glimpse of Abel's face before the door shut behind him, and it was a face of paternal rage as he turned to face the monsters baying for their blood._

_Then the door shut, and the memory was gone._

It was dark when he opened his eyes, only a sliver of sliver moonlight across the bed lighting the room. Sam wearily looked over at the clock beside his bed and saw that it was twelve-thirty…AM.

Correction: It was Tuesday, January 24th, 12:30 AM.

Sam quietly got up from his bed and padded out of the doorway and down to Dean's room. His brother isn't there; the bed hasn't been touched in days. So Sam goes downstairs and finds Dean asleep on the couch, curled up with Castiel's trenchcoat under his head. He grabs a blanket, crocheted and probably made by Bobby's wife long ago, and places it over Dean.

"Happy Birthday Dean."

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Patient seems to stabilize when confronted with situations involving the patient's brother, Dean Winchester. An unhealthy, but otherwise safe codependent relationship. Further evaluation is required for future treatment options.

Please express any concerns freely.


	10. to assert that right

_Appointment Ten_

"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see." ~Henry David Thoreau

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_What is it, to see the future?_

_What do you see, Sam Winchester? What __**have **__you seen?_

_I see a mortal, who is made of glass. A glass so fine, so transparent that with one simple touch, it would shatter. Perhaps you think yourself strong, because you have been taught to ignore fear in the face of danger._

_But you are so fragile._

_Your mind…your mind is hanging on by a thread. Your body is wearing thin. You can't take much more. Your brother can't take much more. Just break the glass. Let the butterfly out._

_You're trapped within._

_Let it out, Sam. Let it out._

There was a gun on the table, shining harmlessly in the light from the kitchen. Dean was upstairs, taking a 'nap'. Sam was wondering if the gunshot would wake him. Dean would be so much happier, so much more relaxed without having to take care of him. It would be so easy, to just end it…

"Sammy? You up man?"

Sam quickly shoved the gun away and went over the fridge, acting like he was looking for breakfast.

"Yeah, I'm up!"

_No you're not. You're pathetic. A burden, a fucking burden. Do it._

Sam heard footsteps and saw Dean come around the corner, half-dressed with sleep mussed hair.

"You still sick?" asked Sam. Dean shook his head.

"Nah, I'm fine now. Where's the beer?"

"We're out. Either you make a run, or drink water. There is, however, whiskey."

"Fine, whatever."

His brother turned and went over to the shelf they kept the liquor on, but paused when he saw the gun on the table. Dean stiffened for a moment, before going on and picking up the whiskey bottle.

"So, cleaning your gun?"

"Yeah, it was dirty."

Dean poured himself a glass and took a sip. "How long you been cleaning it?"

_He knows. He knows and he won't stop you! No one will!_

"Few minutes. Y'know, the usual."

"Uh huh. Leave it be Sam. We're not hunting anything right now."

_Except you. Face it Sam, deep down, you're still a monster. You're still a freak. _

Dean reached out and took the gun and slid it into the waistband of his jeans. "I'm gonna go put this with the other crap in the garage. I made new ammo the other night."

"Thanks," whispered Sam, his voice strangled, his eyes wide in horror. Dean gripped his shoulder.

"Why don't you go pack?"

"Pack? What for?"

"We're getting out of this damn house for a while. We need a road trip."

_Translation, Sam: You need to leave. Get out! Leave! Just one shot, do it! Do it!_

He shook his head and smiled at Dean. "Sure thing."

But where could they go?

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Sam opened the window to let the crisp Mississippi air into the Impala and was rewarded with Dean swearing at him.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing? It's freezing out there!"

"Dean, relax, it's only fifty."

"Bullshit."

"Dean, don't be a jerk."

"Bitch."

The voice had been quiet since they had gotten into the Impala yesterday. The familiar creak of the seats, the smell of leather, booze and steel, and the steady hum of the engine soothed Sam. He was positive that he had spent more of his life in this car, than with his own two feet on the ground.

_I know you Sam. Don't lie to me. You spent centuries in hell._

"Sammy?"

"Wha?"

"How about we pull over for the night, kay? There's a hotel up ahead."

Sam looked up and realized that it was indeed getting dark out. He nodded and Dean pulled off the two-lane interstate and into a small town named Greenville. It was a dowdy little town, suffocatingly small and stereotypically full of old, rusty pick-up trucks.

"Great," sighed Sam, watching as the residents stared at them suspiciously as they rolled up. "Another ho-dunk town in the middle of nowhere."

"Chillax Sam, it's only for one night, and then we'll be in Chicago."

"Remind me again why we're going to Chicago?"

"Dude, they've got some of the best food. Ever. Remember?"

"No."

Dean seemed taken aback for a moment, which made Sam instantly guilty.

"Sorry man."

"S'okay. Let me go check us in. Don't move."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Dean got out and shut the creaky door of the Impala and jogged inside while Sam waited.

_Do it. Do it. It would be so easy. There's an arsenal in the trunk. Dean could bury you here, leave you behind…all his troubles would be gone._

"Hey man, you okay?"

Sam looked up out of the open window and was surprised to see a rather ragged middle-aged man, a small girl on his hip.

"Huh?"

"You okay? You've got a pretty serious expression on your face."

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"No prob. Have a good night."

"You too," said Sam, with a small smile and a wave at the little girl. She waved back and clung tighter to her father. The man turned and walked away, only turning his head back once to look at him.

'Why would a stranger care?' he asked himself.

_Good things happen, Sam, but not to you._

There was sharp cry from across the parking lot and he turned and saw the man and his daughter on the ground, another man pointing a gun at them.

And dammit if it wasn't the face of Lucifer.

Sam let out a yell, flinging himself out of the car, whipping out his pistol on the way. He thundered across the parking lot and positioned himself between the man and the mugger.

"Drop it," he hissed, cocking his gun. The mugger paused and all Sam could see was the smug smile of Lucifer, his eyebrow raised in question.

_You gonna shoot? Big, bwave Sammy gonna shoot?_

"Don't do it son."

And Sam stopped just before his finger pulled the trigger. The mugger's face turned into that of a frightened teen, no older than sixteen. He held up his hands in surrender.

"Don't kill 'im. My daughter don't need to see somethin' like that and you don't need to do somethin' like that," said the man, looking up at Sam. He then turned to the teen.

"And you, go on get!"

The mugger nodded and ran off, no doubt to tell his friends a lie about how he bravely survived getting shot at. The man cradled his daughter to him and let Sam help him.

"Thanks son."

"Sammy!"

Dean was running over, looking between him and the man with a puzzled look. The man sized up Dean and nodded.

"You in charge of this boy?"

"He's in charge of himself. I watch out for him," retorted Dean.

"Good. He needs somebody to do that."

_Nah, nah, nah, nah. Sammy can't handle the real world! Sammy's a joke, a screw-up!_

"What happened?" Dean demanded, turning to Sam. The man put a hand on his accusing arm.

"He saved my life. Calm down son."

"Just who the hell are you mister?"

"_I _am nobody, Mr. Nobody to you. Who are you?"

The world began to tilt, Dean's face stretched, making his distress seem all the more prominent. Mr. Nobody's face morphed until it became his father. Black eyes, demon eyes, focused upon him. The little girl became a toddler Sam, small, pale with yellow eyes.

"_Who are you Sam?" Asked his father._

"_Do it, do it," whispered his younger self. "Do it, it'll make you feel better, make all your pain go away."_

"_Hell, __**what **__are you?" _

"_Freak! We're a freak! Freaky, freaky, freakeeeeeey!"_

"_I never wanted a weak son like you. Why couldn't you be strong?"_

"_Yeah, strong," hissed toddler Sam. His teeth glittered white as he smiled at Sam. Sam's knees buckled and he fell to the ground. "Weak! Weak! You should just die!"_

"_Blow your brains out!" cackled the deranged toddler. "Splat! Hehe!"_

"_Now, now Samuel, don't be so easy on him," crooned demon John. Little Sam grinned wickedly, his eye brows practically curling in delight._

"_Yes father."_

_They walked closer to him and behind them, revealed, was a teen-aged Dean. He was skinny, unhealthily so, and his eyes were so pale and blue that it looked like they were made of glass. You could play xylophone on his ribs._

"_Sam," he whispered, reaching out a twig-thin arm. "Give it back."_

_What? Give what?_

"_Your soul, give it back. Do it."_

"_Do it," said John._

"_Do it."_

"_Do it."_

"_DO IT!"_

Bang.

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Patient's danger level at maximum. Going to be placed under high-risk lockdown.

All concerns will be read through reviews.


	11. In fact, this isn't the place for you

_Appointment Eleven_

"I don't believe an accident of birth makes people brothers or sisters. It makes them siblings, give them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brother hood is a condition people have to work at." ~ Maya Angelou

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"_Sam…"_

_No. I don't want to wake up, my head hurts._

"_Sam, open your eyes. We have much to discuss."_

_Cass? It couldn't possibly be Cass. Cass was dead, he was-_

_Gunfire._

_Dean's horrified face, utter despair upon his face as he reached out towards him._

_Pain._

_Darkness._

"_Sam, wake up!"_

_His eyes shot open and he was greeted with a drab, gray sky. He looked to his left and saw nothing, and to his right, a pair of feet. He sat up and looked above him at a familiar set of blue eyes._

"_Cass?"_

"_Sam, while I am happy to see you, I am not happy that you are here."_

"_Where would here be?"_

_Castiel knelt and that was when the image of his vessel dissipated and a being made of constellations and silvery moonlight became visible. Magnificent iridescent black wings rose from his back, but they were shabby, feathers missing in places. His blue eyes, set in an ethereally beautiful face, were dim with exhaustion and sorrow._

"_You're in-between worlds, like me. Like Bobby before he passed on."_

_Sam felt a touch of fear at those words. "Is Dean okay?"_

"_Why would you ask that? You shot yourself, not Dean."_

_Castiel's words were soft, but sharp. He was upset with Sam._

"_Come now. We must leave this place, lest your reaper catch you unawares."_

_Sam took Castiel's hand, the outline of which was made by the forms of stars that he knew were not in his galaxy. His skin swirled with nebulas, galaxies and comets._

"_Do not be afraid. Your hand won't pass through."_

"_I thought you were supposed to be the size of the Chrysler building."_

"_Sam, I'm not in Heaven, nor on Earth. I'm a shadow of my former self, only a part of my grace. The rest of me is gone."_

"_Ah," said Sam, following the angel through the blinding mist. It was cold, damp and Sam didn't ever remember being in a place like this. "Where is this supposed to be?"_

"_Your very first memory, the one that came into existence as you were conceived."_

"_Whoa, you mean this is from me being in the womb?"_

"_Yes."_

"_That's…"_

"_Freaky," said Castiel, smiling. "I believe Dean would call it freaky."_

_At the mention of his brother, Sam sobered up and became solemn again. _

"_He's messed up, y'know. He doesn't show it very often, but the dude sleeps with your coat as a pillow. He misses you."_

"_I miss him too," murmured Castiel, almost too soft for Sam to catch. There was a moment of quiet, and then they walked through a stone arch, and the mist was replaced by soft sunlight._

"_Dammit Dean!"_

_He turned and there was John, shaking his finger at his brother, the sunlight streaming into the dingy motel room contrasting with the dark atmosphere of the kitchen area. Dean was about fifteen or so and his young shoulders were set in rare defiance._

"_He has a right to go dad! He's so smart," said Dean fiercely. Sam tried to remember what they could be discussing, but could not._

"_I know he's smart, but I don't want him going somewhere you're not!"_

"_He's eleven dad, not four it's not my job-!"_

_It happened so fast that Sam barely caught the action. But the resounding smack echoed in his ears and pounded through his brain. He remembered this. It was the only time John had ever raised a hand to them, and it was when Dean was trying to get him to let Sam go on a field trip to the Smithsonian._

"_It will always be your job," snarled John. Dean stared back, his green eyes hard._

"_You're the one who can't protect us," he said softly. John raised his hand again._

"_Dad no!" cried out his younger self, who sprinted across the room and flung himself in front of Dean, who was trying desperately to keep his calm. Sam remembers being so desperate to protect Dean…he also remembers that this is where things began to go south between him and Dad._

"_Dean, I-"John says before pausing, the look on his face changing instantly from enraged to horrified. Sam stays in-between them, Dean's arm around his collar, clinging to him with his arms behind his back._

"_Leave," hisses younger Sam, before Dean can get a word in edgewise. Sam feels himself gasp. There was such anger in his younger self's eyes. There was fierce desire to protect his brother, it was bordering on selfish. He wanted Dean all to himself. He didn't see John as his father here._

"_Come Sam, it's time to go," said Cass, guiding him towards the door of the motel, leaving the dingy motel room for a wide-open meadow._

"_Sammy, C'mon!"_

_Dean was older here, perhaps only a few years ago, during the few days of the time before the impending Apocalypse that they had to themselves. Dean was lying next to Cass on an old blanket, a spot left open for Sam to lounge beside them. The meadow was deep with summer flora and when he laid down, he couldn't see anything but bright green foliage and the endless blue sky. _

_Sam watched with envy as his slightly younger self lay down beside Castiel and took a deep breath._

"_Beer?" asked Dean, passing him a Bud over Castiel's chest. Sam turned to the angel beside him and he saw him looking longingly at his brother._

"_Dean," said past Castiel, "What does that cloud look like to you?"_

_Sam smiled. He remembers this._

"_I don' know. Kind of looks like Godzilla."_

"_I think it kind of looks like the colt," said Sam. Castiel tilts his head, staring puzzled up at the sky._

"_I do not understand. I thought it was a common cummuls cloud. I did not know Godzilla was a type of cloud."_

_Sam and Dean roared with laughter, rolling on their sides as Castiel watched them, unamused. Sam couldn't help but laugh at the scene and beside him Castiel laughed too._

_It was a beautifully strange sound, like waves breaking quietly upon a shore or a waterfall trickling over smooth stone. It was also the first time Sam had heard Castiel laugh._

"_You should laugh more Cass, it's a nice sound."_

_Before the angel could respond, however, the ground began to rumble and the sky turned dark. Edges of the meadow began to fade, the figments of his memory flashing in and out._

"_We must go now!" said Cass, pulling on his hand towards the woods. "The reaper is close!"_

_Sam sprinted with him, panting as he felt the icy hands of death reaching towards him._

"_Hurry Sam!" cried the angel, speeding up. Sam stumbled, but kept moving, leaping over streams and roots to keep up. "The door is close, up ahead!"_

_There was an entrance to a garden ahead, a simple wrought-iron fixture. They smashed through it with a loud 'clang!'_

_And promptly landed in the middle of a bedroom. Sam looked around curiously, sniffing. It smelled so familiar…so safe._

"_Sam," crooned a soft voice. He turned and saw Jessica walking towards him. Tears welled up in his eyes when she came over to him and hugged him. "Sam it's okay, I'm here. Shhhh."_

_He hugged her back, desperately pressing his face into her hair, trying to catch the faint scent of her sunflower soap. It was there and he relished in it as she embraced him._

_Then she was gone and the room was replaced with a dingy motel room that reeked of pizza and mold. His younger self was in his late teens, hurriedly packing his bag. He looked around constantly, hoping that Dean wouldn't come through the door. Jeans, boots, extra cash. Was Dean back? Jacket, shirts…his hand lingered over the new jacket Dean had bought him for Christmas._

_Should he leave it?_

_No. He only had one picture of Dean in his wallet, and it was from three years ago. He wrapped himself in the jacket, but slipped off the leather band around his wrist._

_So he knows I left. Sam knows exactly what his teen self is thinking. If he didn't leave something behind, Dean would think the best and assume that he had been kidnapped. It hurt to leave the only safe place he had ever known, but he wasn't going to take Dad's shit anymore. He was tired of it._

_He was tired of the constant raving about mom's death. Sam had long ago accepted that she was never coming back. Perhaps it was different for him though. He didn't even remember her face. Dean did. He had the memories of someone smoothing his hair, singing softly and kissing his boo-boos. Of course, he had done this for Sam, minus the kisses, but John hadn't ever done any of that. John hadn't shown true affection towards them since Sam was nine._

"_Bye Dean," teen Sam whispered, leaving the leather band on the nightstand along with a picture of mom. "Love you."_

_And he turned and walked through the door._

_Sam followed his younger self, but Castiel hung back. He turned to the angel._

"_Cass what-" he was cut off as a sharp pain struck his chest and he doubled over, gasping. He sank to his knees, clutching at his chest._

"_What's happening? Am I dying?"_

_Castiel came over and put a hand on his shoulder. "No Sam. You're going to live."_

_The touch was soothing and Castiel smiled at him and knelt, pressing a kiss to his forehead. It wasn't sexual, or romantic, but pure compassion. Instantly Sam's pain ceased and he looked up at Cass in wonder._

"_Give that to Dean as well, if you would."_

"_I'm not going to kiss him," Sam teased softly, smiling at him. Castiel smiled back._

"_I would not expect you to. Just open your eyes."_

He did.

The world was a blurry white, full of shifting shadows. He looked to his right and the sound of steady beeping reached his ears. He looked lower and saw Dean passed out upright in the plastic chair next to his bed. Sam wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but he found he was too weak to do anything more than wiggle his fingers. The room was dimmed for nighttime and it took him a while to notice another person in the room.

"Oh you're awake are you?" said a soft feminine voice. It came from a matronly black woman, her brown eyes soft with compassion but her voice sharp with indination. "Bout time too. You've been keepin' your poor brother awake for the past four days. Poor boy."

"Sorry," whispered Sam hoarsely, trying to smile at her. The nurse stroked his arm as she checked his vitals.

"You don't have to tell me honey…but your brother loves you a lot. Ain't nothin' so bad that you can give up something like that, let me tell you; I'm a big sister, and I know a thing or two about little brothers and you know somethin'? He needs you just as much as you need him."

Sam smiled at her and she gave him one last glance over before leaving. He then focused his attention upon Dean and that was when he noticed the deep bruised-looking circles under his eyes as he slept. Arms, so long associated with being safe, were tightly crossed and tense looking. Dean was thing, his face gaunt and skin waxy. He felt guilty. Dean must've hardly eaten, because Sam hadn't eaten more than half a PB&J sandwich when Dean was in the hospital.

"De," he whispered. "De."

His brother didn't respond at first, but then opened his eyes to stare at Sam. They were sad, and hurt.

"Sam," said Dean softly, reaching out and brushing his arm. "You're awake."

"Cass says hi," he replied softly. He then did something neither of them would speak of again. He kissed his first two fingers and pressed them against Dean's forehead. "He sent that too."

"That girl."

But the moment of light-heartedness was gone in a second and Dean's face turned hard with anger.

"You do that again and I'll drag you to hell myself," he growled, jabbing his finger in Sam's face. "You should be sorry you're alive, because once you're out of here, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Sam smirked. "I don't doubt it Dean."

"Oh, bet on it. Cause your ass is grass. Why would you do that Sam? You nearly killed me, you dumbass."

_Do it Sam, do it! Nothing but a burden! Why would he want you?_

"Dean, all I ever do is disappoint you and cause you trouble, why not?"

"Do you think I want to be alone!" said Dean, a hint of hysteria in his voice. "I hate it! Bobby's gone, Cass is gone! Goddammit Sam, I don't want to be alone!"

And his brother, his rock-solid, always tough, always protective big brother is broken, sobbing into the sheets next to Sam's arm. And for the first time, it's Sam reaching up to stroke his brothers hair. It's Sam murmuring the comforting words and humming softly.

It's Sam being the protector.

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Medication withdrawn. Suicidal tendencies were raised to the point of attempted suicide. Patient is on watch for next twenty-four hours.

Please express any and all concerns.


	12. if you want to be free

_Appointment Twelve_

"_Our siblings. They resemble us just enough to make all their differences confusing, and no matter what we choose to make of this, we are cast in relation to them our whole lives long." ~Susan Scarf Merrell_

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They had called in a goddamned psychiatrist.

A short, skinny and balding man with glasses big enough to make the eighties cringe. Strange thing was he wasn't half-bad, for a doctor. Mr. Willis was an okay guy.

"Sam, you keep looking around. Are you expecting someone?"

"My brother, Dean, said he would come get me today."

Sam had been in the hospital for exactly two weeks now. The bullet had not pierced his skull, but had grazed the top, resulting in a deep gouge to the bone and severe intracranial bleeding. The swell was what had nearly killed him, it turns out, he had been unconscious for five days. The external wound had resulted in Sam's hair being cropped short, just short of being shaved completely off really, and a thick white bandage a constant accessory to his wardrobe.

"Yes, that's right. You're being discharged today, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Tell me Sam, you've refused to see me until the last minute, why is that?"

Well, there went the 'okay guy' sentiment.

There were so many damn reasons. Hell. His childhood. Mom. Dad…Jessica. He hunted monsters for a living; who could tell a doctor that and get away without meds?

"I don't like doctors. Never have."

"Why is that?"

Doctors mean questions. Doctors take Dean away. Doctors…doctors are scary. Even Cas, a friggin' angel of the Lord, disliked doctors.

"You ask too many questions."

"Why don't you like questions?"

"See?"

Dr. Willis chuckled. "I do indeed Sam. Now, you seem very close to your brother, Dean was it? Tell me about him."

"Dean practically raised me," Sam blurted out before he could fabricate routine lies. "My mom died when I was a baby and our dad worked a lot."

"Interesting. How about your father?"

Sam snorted. "We didn't get along too well most of the time. Dean had to clean that up too."

"Oh? Your brother was the peacekeeper of the family?"

"My brother _was _the family. Still is. Dean kept us together."

Dr. Willis frowned a bit. "That's quite a description Sam. I wouldn't know what to do if such admiration was bestowed upon me."

Sam thought about that for a moment. He adored Dean, worshipped him when they were little. How did Dean feel about him?

"Do you feel as if you're a burden upon Dean?"

Sam jerked in his seat and looked up. didn't miss the movement.

"Ah, I see. Tell me Sam, what's the longest you've ever been separated from your brother?"

_Sam thought back, years and years ago, when he was eighteen, nearly nineteen, and packing a suitcase. How John was screaming at him as he tossed his clothes into a bag. Dean wasn't there. He had been out wrapping up a hunt. His absence was probably why things had escalated to this point. Sam had run out of the motel room and sprinted down the stairs, John yelling obscenities after him. Dean had been at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes hollow looking as he watched Sam descending the steps._

"_Sammy?"_

_And Sam had wordlessly hugged Dean, letting his older brother wrap his arms tight around him, before breaking away and heading for the truck he had stolen a few nights ago. Tossing his bag into it, he climbed into the driver's seat, started the vehicle and drove away._

"_I'm sorry Dean."_

"Three years. I was away from him for three years when I tried going to Stanford."

"And since then?"

"I spent a year…travelling. It was about two years back. Except for that and college, we were never apart more than a few weeks and even less as kids."

"I have three sisters Sam, and let me tell you, I haven't seen one of them since Christmas."

"It's April Dr. you might want to pick up the phone."

"Why should I?"

Sam was quiet for a moment, knowing the doctor was testing him. He looked up.

"Because Doctor, you're their brother. It's your job."

"What's your job Sam?"

"Dean's job is to take care of me, always has been. I don't think he quite knows what my job is Doc. I don't think he knows how much I care."

"Why not?"

"Because when I was sick, he would wrap me up in the big blankets and read to me or sing. When he was sick, I would do my best to let him rest. When I was scared, especially when we were really small, he could climb into bed with me and tuck me against his chest and sing the lullaby our mom used to sing. I hate seeing Dean scared. It means I'm not safe. I've never done things like that for Dean. I've only tried to not be a burden."

"Well Sam, I have a suggestion for you and I think it'll help out quite a bit. Do those things for Dean. It sounds to me as if Dean is your parent-figure still. Fix dinner every once in a while. Check on him when he's asleep, do all the things he's done for you."

Sam was quiet, thinking. Did he know how to be Dean? Hell, could he be Dean?

"I'm not asking you to do a full role-reversal Sam, just be yourself."

"Doc I-"

Sam was cut off, however, by a soft knock on the door. Sam turned excitedly and saw a nurse standing there with Dean a little bit beside. The woman smiled at him and let Dean through.

"Your brother is here to take you home Mr. Winchester."

"Hey Sammy," said Dean, smiling. Sam got up and grabbed his cane, hobbling over to his brother. His right leg had suffered from his head wound. Doctors weren't quite sure how it had happened, but Sam was determined to get past it and regain full use of his leg.

"Easy there gimpy, don't overdo yourself," said Dean, lunging forward to steady him when Sam stumbled. "Oh, and I brought you a coat. It's damn cold out there for some reason. Fricken' April."

Sam laughed, letting his brother lead him out the door. "Dude, I know you hate the rain, but calm down. It's-oh."

He looked out the front doors of the hospital and saw honest-to-god sleet falling from the sky.

"Yeah, oh. It's fricken thirty-degrees out there man. You sure you're up for it?"

"Dean, I just want to go home."

"Alright, hang on to me though. I don't need you fallin' and bustin' your stupid head open."

Sam shrugged on his coat and was about to lean on Dean when his brother held up his hand and busied himself looking through the pockets in his coat.

"Oh yeah, Jodie sent something over for you. I brought it cause your head might get cold now that your mane is gone."

Sam ran a conscious hand over his hair. It wasn't quite as stubbly as when they had first given him his hair cut, but rather like a crazy, curly Caesar, without the shitty bangs.

And then Dean pulled out the hat.

"What the hell is that?"

"What? I think it suits you and you're wearing it. It's damn cold man."

It was a dark blue, obviously hand-knit beanie, with two ear flaps dangling from it. To Sam's horror, the ear flaps had braided string hanging from them with a moon on the end of one and a sun on the other. He looked at Dean in horror.

"I'm not wearing that."

Suffice to say, he was wearing it when they pulled up to the house.

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Sam opened his eyes to a dark, quiet house. Outside, he could hear the faint sound of sleet, still clicking against the windows as the wind howled. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his cane. He limped out into the hallway and towards Dean's bedroom.

Something was wrong.

He soundlessly opened the door and found Dean curled under Castiel's trench coat. It was perfectly quiet except for the soft swish of sleet and Dean's crying out in his sleep. They weren't screams, as Sam was wont to do, but rather like sobs in nature. They came from somewhere deep within Dean and they were heart wrenching and primal.

Sam shuffled over to the bed and sat down beside his brother. He reached over and gently withdrew the precious piece of clothing and looked down at Dean's face. It was screwed up in anguish as he dreamed.

"Cas…Cas…no."

Sam's chest clenched in pain. He had seen Cas, almost dying as he had, and now he felt guilt for that. Dean had been so lost since the angel died.

"Shhhh," whispered Sam, placing a hand on Dean's head and stroking his forehead with his thumb. "It's okay Dean. It's okay."

Dean stilled, cracking an eye open. He jumped up when he saw that it was Sam, concern on his face.

"Sam? What is it? Does your head hurt? Is it your leg? Are you o-"

"Dean, shh."

Dean sat back immediately. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his eyes in the process. Sweat made his skin shiny and Sam assumed it must have been a terrible nightmare.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No Dean…do you want to talk about it?"

"You're not going to get all weird, touchy-feely on me are you? Because if that Doctor said this would help…"

"No Dean, I'm just trying to help."

Dean gave him a wary, scrutinizing look before sighing. "It was about Cas, alright?"

"I know that. You were talking in your sleep."

"Oh, great."

Sam waited patiently for Dean to go on, which, surprisingly, he did.

"I keep seeing this look on his face, just before the Leviathans took over. I was so close Sam. There was this look…like he was saying "Help me, help me please!" and I was a total dick. I could have reached out; I could have said something…anything."

"Dean, it's not your fault. Cas…Cas was on a downward spiral way before Leviathans were in the picture."

"I know Sam, but still. I miss him, goddammit, I miss him so much," said Dean and Sam saw the same look as when he had woken up in the hospital take over Dean's eyes. It was a look of terror.

"I miss his voice. I miss how he smelled, because dammit if angels don't smell damn good Sammy. I miss talking to him, explaining that no, chill out does not mean turning the heat on. I miss…I miss how he could fix everything."

And suddenly, it made sense. These were all the things, well excluding the smelling part, that would be weird, that Sam looked for in Dean. Dean, the brother who had done the coddling and feeding and bandaging of wounds. The brother who would do anything to keep his family happy, safe and most importantly, together. The brother who had been taking care of everyone else since the day he was born and had never had another person do so much for him.

Until Cas.

Cas had saved Dean from hell. He had broken all the rules, risked eternal damnation and had fallen from heaven, all to help Dean. Cas killed his own kind, hurt Sam and broke the laws of nature to protect him. He would do anything to make sure Dean was healed after being hurt. And Sam was sure he had caught Cas sitting beside Dean as he slept, very rarely, rolling his shoulders as if he was shifting his wings to cover him. And Dean had always calmed, always relaxed after this casual motion.

Cas had been to Dean, what Dean was to Sam…and more. There was desperate loneliness in Dean's voice, the same tone Sam's voice had taken on when Jess died. He understood what losing that person meant.

You went insane trying to remember how they looked when they smiled, that certain smile they only showed to you. It made you furious that you couldn't remember their favorite song or their scent. Sam had cried over trying to remember what Jess would do when she kissed him. All he could remember was pressing his lips to hers.

"Sam, I don't feel so hot."

And that was when Sam noticed how sweaty Dean still was. He reached out and pressed a hand to his brother's forehead and flinched when he felt how hot it was. His brother looked up at his hand, eyes crossing as he tried to focus.

"Dean you're sick! Why didn't you say anything?" demanded Sam forcing his brother to lay down.

"Don't know…I miss Cas."

"I know you do. Go back to sleep."

"Sammy…"mumbled Dean, obediently lying down with a sigh. "I'm fine."

"No you're not. Go to sleep, I'll be right here."

The next few hours would haunt Sam for months to come. Dean cried out pitifully during his fever-fueled nightmares, thrashing about as he shouted. His face was in constant anguish, tears pouring down his face as he somehow stayed asleep. His voice broken as he begged over and over again.

"Cas, Cas! Don't leave me! Cas!"

Sam sat on the other side of the bed, feeling more helpless than ever.

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Patient's condition remains stable for the time being. Check-up recommended for end of week.

Please make us aware of any concerns through reviews.


	13. Thank you, and have a nice day

_Appointment Thirteen_

"_Those with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares."_

_~Mahatma Gandhi_

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Dean was sick for a week.

The first three days are days of a conscious Dean, retching what seems like every twenty minutes to Sam. In fact, he set up a pallet for Dean in the bathroom so he didn't have to keep sprinting to the bathroom so often.

These days were the ones Sam could handle. Despite his leg being half-functional, he found it to be rather easy to take care of Dean. It was a simple routine: make sure he eats before taking meds, don't let his water glass go empty, keep cool rags on his forehead. Change his clothes; make sure he's not too hot or cold. And always, _always_, check his temperature every three hours.

Then came the days of a different Dean.

Late Wednesday night Dean's temperature spiked to 104 degrees and he fell into a deep sleep that had Sam panicking. He didn't wish to call the hospital, because he certainly couldn't drive with just one working leg, but he also knew that such a high fever was dangerous if it persisted.

He could sense Dean's pain as he lay, perfectly still, upon the bed. Purplish circles persisted around his eyes, despite his apparent excess of rest. Sam never left his bedside, constantly watching for signs of recovery or relapse.

This lasted until early, early Friday morning. Then his fever lowered to 100 degrees and Sam began to relax a bit.

That was, until the thrashing nightmares began. These weren't the typical nightmares that were part of going to Hell and back, they also weren't the nightmares all hunters suffered from. Bobby used to say it was PTSD. Dean said it was his brain telling him not to fuck up so much.

Dean howled.

He howled things that Sam would never dare utter out loud. Images of hell that not even Lucifer would dare use. There was always the begging, the constant begging to set free, for it to stop. There was Dean telling Alistair to stop, telling himself to stop…telling Sam to stop. Apparently they had used him against Dean in hell.

But the cries that broke Sam's heart were the cries for their mother. Dean would yell in the middle of the night, when his dreams were the worst, and they were pitiful, child-like yells for their "Momma".

Sam eventually locked himself away from Dean at night, trying to block out his cries, cries so similar to those in Hell. They were lamenting of past sins, pleading for forgiveness, always guilty.

And then, on the next Sunday morning, his fever broke and the house was quiet. In fact, Sam woke up because it was so quiet. He heaved himself out of bed, forgoing his crutch to limp down the hallway with the aid of the wall.

"Dean?" he called out, panic welling up in his chest. What if his brother had died while he had been asleep?

"Cas?" was the soft reply from the bedroom. Sam sighed, half in relief and half because it meant his brother was still hallucinating. He quietly peeks around the doorframe and his jaw nearly hits the floor, literally, because he stumbles when he sees what is inside.

There is Dean reaching up into what was, seconds ago, empty air and is now clearly a partially-solid spirit. It is Castiel, reaching down and placing a comforting hand on Dean's forehead. Dean stares up at him in shock, and then reaches up and wraps his arms around the angel, curling his fingers into his dark hair, because yes, he still resembles Jimmy Novak.

"Hello Dean," says Cas, his voice echoed by a thousand more as he speaks. It sounds powerful, but Sam can tell it's taking all of the angel's power to remain on this plane of existence. "I'm very happy to see you."

Dean lets out a hoarse laugh laced with unreleased tears. "I missed you too man."

And then Cas has pressed his lips to Dean's and Sam turns away, not because he disapproves, but because he knows this is an intensely private moment and Dean always hated it when Sam snooped on him. That's probably why he's sporting a huge grin on his face. His brother was in for it later!

"Sam, will you come inside?"

He turns and limps into the room to face Castiel, who for the first time, Sam notices, is sporting huge, _visible_, black wings. They flutter unconsciously as the angel comes over to him, Dean following his every move with intensely focused eyes, and places a healing hand upon his forehead. A feeling like ice, soothing, cool ice on a scorching summer day, runs through his body and suddenly his leg doesn't ache quite as bad as it had been.

"I'll be back soon," whispers Castiel in his ear. "Don't tell Dean…I wish to surprise him."

Sam smiles and the angel walks back over to the hunter, who leans up from where he is propped up against a ghastly amount of pillows and cups Castiel's face in his hands. Dean must be really out of it to be showing this type of affection in front of Sam.

"You leavin' already?"

"Yes Dean, I am."

And there isn't another kiss, another hug, just a simple look that passes between the two of them. A look that Sam was sure most girls would kill to share with their lover.

Then, with an invisible breeze, Castiel's image is scattered back to the next world.

Dean leans back against the pillows, dark circles still underneath his eyes. Sam looks over at him concernedly.

"You doin' okay?"

"I still feel like a shit sandwich, just not a soggy one. I'll be okay Sammy."

There it was. Despite all that Sam had done this past week, despite his attention, his care his love for Dean, his older brother still managed to do more with one sentence. His voice instantly reassured Sam that he would be okay and, yes, he knows he looks like shit. Perhaps it was simply a big brother thing.

Who knows? Because as Sam helped Dean out of bed to change, his brother leaned against him and squeezed his arm. He felt how tired his brother was and suddenly realized that Dean had depended on him instead of the other way around.

Maybe this is what being the little brother meant.

"Thanks Sammy."

Maybe it meant just being Sam.

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Patient has stabilized sufficiently enough to cease further treatment.

Thank you for your effort to aid the patient.

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